


and you're dying (i can feel it)

by kashxy



Series: will i ever stop writing angst? (no) [2]
Category: Iron-Man - Fandom, Spider-Man: Homecoming
Genre: Anorexia, Anorexic Peter Parker, ED - Freeform, Eating Disorders, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2019-11-12 22:52:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18019991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kashxy/pseuds/kashxy
Summary: it’s the fainting that really tips tony over the edge.





	and you're dying (i can feel it)

**Author's Note:**

> i don’t need to tell you that this story is triggering. that being said, i know first hand that if you have an eating disorder, you won’t care for any warnings. i do not wish this for anyone, and i hope, to anyone suffering, that your mind and body heals and you find peace in your own body. please stay safe.

if peter was an artist, he thinks he'd paint the insides of his mind, hanging them in places nobody would think to look so that when he hung _himself_ , the paintings could be uncovered and displayed against his bones in a glorious appreciation of death. he's sure people would run from the bleeding lines of his mind, seeing only the canvas of vomit and spit he'd painted upon on lonely tuesdays spent hunched over in the shower, quiet saturdays watching the blood trickle down his arm. it’s a gross declaration of love between the gap in his thighs, and the way he can wrap his fingers around his arms now. although his hipbones break through his skin and his collarbones cut through his t-shirt, he finds it difficult to find the problem for the way his ribs heave when he inhales.

he thinks, at least, that the way his stomach is an empty orchestra playing pipes in church, shows the most painfully gorgeous declaration of agonising harmony, and the way it echoes off his rib cage in an angry attempt to conquer the food deficit, that he is not weak.

weak could never begin to describe the way his hair falls out in clumps, the way his knees knock together when he walks. weak, would he never be. 

it's an even more difficult problem to solve when tony finds out. he holds peter like he’s a piece of china, gently caressing the shoulder blades that stick out of his skin like broken angel wings in a soft dance of _i know what you’re doing please stop please eat please please eat eat eat_  

he can’t stop. doesn’t see a reason to. when did it stop being about being thin enough to look good in his suit and morphed into an endless fight for control over _his_ body? his mind turned into an angry island overnight, and for all he can think, he can’t understand why he can’t just _eat._  

he’s hungry. god, he’s so _hungry._  the dizziness, the starving, the headaches - he’d give it all up in one minute if it meant he could appreciate the romantic intamicy of enjoying life again. 

an empty theatre, his stomach roars with the forgotten melodies of a crowd. his ribs only hold a weak barrier to protect his empty stomach, holding captive everything he’d ever wanted to be. spider-man was a broken, lost memory, forgotten somewhere between counting calories and watching faces twist into concern when his stomach growled.

he thinks, sometimes, that he’d perhaps tear open his ribs and smash them into tiny pieces just to beg himself to tie them back together and sew them into his body all over again. 

his thighs stay miles apart and he sees how tony stares at them when he sits on the sofa, understands the way thor and natasha frown at each other, but recovery stays a long lost fantasy he could only dream about being real. 

first, he’d eat chocolate. he knows that much.

\----

“kid, we miss you.  please just try.”

tony’s crying, his hands shaking as they glide over peter’s own, unable to touch him. he’s pale, like he’s about to keel over and throw up, and his breathing is choked and stuttered. the bags under his eyes haunt peter while he's asleep - they scream _you're killing me here please please just eat eat EAT_. he shakes it off and moves his head as tears pool in his eyes.

a breakfast bar is in front of him, along with the rest of the avengers. they stare at him like he’s an alien who’s just grown two heads, but their eyes hold unsure tears and unshed apologies. peter’s _killing_ them.

he doesn’t move to take the bar, doesn’t answer, and the guilt eats at his heart at the way tony’s shoulders drop. bruce places a hand on the older man's shoulder, though tony only shrugs it off, shaking his head as more tears stream down his face. he leaves the room quicker than peter can blink and leaves in his presence a sinking feeling of regret and musky sadness.

”peter, why won’t you eat? please, just eat?” 

he couldn’t count on his fingers how many times he’d heard that same sentence, from ned, may, tony, tony, tony, _so many times._

he glares down at his wrists, wrapping his fingers around to ensure he hasn’t gained weight by looking at the bar of food in front of him. his stomach rumbles unapprovingly and peter has to stifle a sob when he realises he’s fucking _starving_.

he shakes his head and stands.

158 calories. he feels sick.  

\----

it's june when peter ends up in the hospital.

he remembers vividly how worried tony had sounded, crying as he held him under the shower, soaked in vomit and blood. _asphyxiation_ , they yelled. he'd thrown up so much his face had gone purple and he was struggling to breathe. he supposed the cuts on his wrist didn't help either.

hooked up to a drip full of god knows how many calories, constantly monitored at all times, he begins to wish he'd never stayed up at night scrolling through thinspo. _inpatient_ , they throw at him. _fucking crazy. was he_?

tony and may are so kind. they stay with him through it all, may often leaving to work, but tony stays. when peter was awake, he was there. when he woke up screaming, he was there. when peter tried to stab himself, he was there.

he's exhausted. his illness is killing everyone around him, and he hates himself for it.

a burden. he doesn't stop repeating it to himself like a mantra while he tries to fall asleep. it drives him insane, makes him sick on the bed. he sits in a pile of his own vomit until tony cleans him up and he falls asleep sobbing. 

he’s not sure he’s ever wanted to die more.

\----

peter cries as he's taken away from tony. they put him on a stretcher, pushing on his chest, and peter wants to throw up.

_leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone!_

tony's crying, he can see. he watches the man crumple in front of him, and everything stops.

he can't feel. only watches as tony sobs and falls to the floor, in the arms of a strange nurse he doesn't recognise. he can't smell anymore - thank god. the smell of death was really getting to him.

 _oh_.

he realises, with a shock, that he can't move anymore. there's an odd sound in his ears - the nurses are screaming. at him, about him? he doesn't know.

surprisingly, when his lungs stop working, he doesn't cry. he leans back and takes in the solace, because, it's the first time in a long time he hasn't been worrying about food.

it's the first time in a while he hasn't been hungry.

\----

tony must be happy. no longer looking after the sick kid.

the fucking selfish brat who forced him away from work when all he wanted to do was get this new Stark pad up. peter's like that, you see. a fucking selfish prick who can't deal with shit by himself.

he can almost feel may sighing in relief, at the understanding that her kid isn't killing her indirectly anymore. he'd taken years off her lifespan already. he saw the way she cried at night.

he wants to see them. the avengers, ned, michelle, tony, may, happy, tony, tony, tony...

he understands now why only people in heaven can see their loved ones.

it's a relaxing thought, and he relishes in the peace his soul has found.

it's perfect, he feels amazing. he must be so skinny right now, looking like a fucking model finally. if he could feel, he knows happiness would be flooding through him right now. he smiles.

he's not hungry.

**Author's Note:**

> i don't condone eating disorders in any way, shape, or form. i hope this vent fic shows the harsh reality of eating disorders, rather than glamorising them. please, if anybody is struggling, or believes they may begin having negative feelings towards food, message me! my tumblr is @kashxy, and my inbox is always, always open. please stay safe. you are beautiful, you are amazing, you are kind, and you are loved. please stay safe.


End file.
